


Liquid Love

by orphan_account



Series: Love Ends in War [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Difficult Decisions, Emotional Sherlock, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Goodbyes, I Love You, Kissing, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, Moriarty Wins, Needles, Original Character Death(s), POV Sherlock Holmes, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fear of death is something so primal that it consumes us - Inescapable. No matter how fast you run, no matter how much you learn, death with take us. Sherlock Holmes knows this, wanted to avoid the pain. But you embody his fear, and yet you are unafraid.<br/>(Gender-neutral Reader)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Love

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - If you have a phobia of needles, DO NOT READ.

The realisation hadn't come fast enough. He had failed. Now thirteen thousand people would die because of him. Thirteen thousand innocent men, women and children. Gone. All because he wasn't _quick_ enough.  
"You know what you've done, don't you?" comes Moriarty's sing song Irish accent. He doesn't need to laugh, his voice _is_ the laughter.  
"What do you want?" his own voice sounds a thousand miles away. He's lost.  
"Oh, I don't want anything." Moriarty replies flatly. "I've already got everything I wanted."  
Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight, desperate for any other option. He might have perfected the art of emotional suppression, but not even he could live down thirteen thousand lives. John would never forgive him, Lestrade would lose his job, Mycroft would also be blamed and you-  
"But I'll make you a deal." Moriarty chimes as he strides past, setting a small metal box on the table in front of him. Sherlock stares at it, calculating all the things that could be inside it.  
"Oh? Do share." he urged with raspy sarcasm. The consulting criminal's lips twitch in amusement. He flips open the lid, revealing a syringe full of unidentified liquid.  
"If you were to say... inject this into your blood stream, it'd take, oh I don't know... thirty seconds to kill you?" he declares with a steady tone of dark humour and mock uncertainty.  
"My life for theirs. That's rather ordinary of you." Sherlock comments teasingly, hoping to get a rise.  
"I didn't say it had to be you." Moriarty purrs, smirking darkly as he makes his way to the door. "The choice is yours, Sherlock. Enjoy."

Just like that he steps off the stage, leaving Sherlock with an impossible choice. The lethal drugs sit a while, gathering dust as Sherlock thinks. Five possibilities, one chance. Firstly, he could let thirteen thousand people die. Secondly, he could let himself die. Thirdly, he could let one of his friends take it. Fourthly, he could wait and hope Lestrade can get everyone out. Or Fifth, he could call Moriarty back and make him take it. The first option wasn't appealing, the second the easiest, the third agony, fourth virtually impossible and the fifth unreliable. He buries his head in his hands, rubbing his face to help shift his tension. His fingers go to the syringe, running his fingers over it. He could call Mycroft, tell him to bring an antidote... no that wouldn't work. There's no time. He slides off the cap slowly, bringing it up to eye level. It wouldn't hurt. Just thirty seconds, that's all it'd take.  
He rolls up his sleeve, bringing the needle to his forearm. His breath comes out shakily. He sees John's face curled up in a smile, laughing at one of their conversations. Mycroft's stern disapproving eyes. Mrs Hudson bringing him tea. Lestrade looking to him desperately for help. Your eyes sparkling with adoration, reflecting the licking flames of the fire on Christmas day. His heart throbs painfully in his chest.  
How would they all react when they found him?

The door opens, and a familiar figure bursts into the room.  
"Sherlock!" You cry out, sprinting towards him and making to grab at the syringe.  
"Stop!!" he yells, backing away from you and throwing his hand out to stop you. "Don't come any closer."  
"Sherl-" you begin.  
"Do what I say!" his voice cracks, his own grief betraying him. Your lips part, eyes widening in horror.  
"My God, Sherlock... what is he doing to you?" you whisper, barely audible, but dripping with the kind of pain you only feel when someone you love is suffering. It almost destroys him to hear it. He forces his eyes closed, squeezing them tightly, as if it would make it all stop. For a moment there is only silence. Then your soft fingers wrap around his and slip the syringe free of his grip. A long sigh flows out of him, like air draining from a punctured tire. Something unspoken travels between you and he understands what you must do - what he must live with. He never should have dragged you into this danger. You were like a drug, but oh, so much worse than that. A slow, steady tear rolls free as he opens his eyes.  
There you stand, in all your glory - beautiful, innocent and blissful. Smile as sweet as honey on your lips, dancing in your eyes.  
"I love you, Sherlock." you whisper and a wretched sob bursts from his throat.  
"I know!" he shrieks, unable to contain his grief.

He's not looking at you when you do it, when you press it into your skin, when you push it into your veins. You drop it to the floor with a clatter. His mournful eyes look to you, tears flowing down his cheeks and you just take his hands in yours. Your soft lips press to his momentarily.  
"There wasn't anything left for me anyway." you soothe, rubbing circles into his wrists. "People like me don't have dreams, only fleeting moments of joy."  
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't be... I should have protected you!" he hisses, anger and apology in his voice.  
"My love, I'm so happy I got to be with you. You can't protect me from death. Not even you."  
Finally, your eyes meet and he knows you're right.  
"I love you." he whispers, and one last euphoric smile bursts to life onto your face and then,  
the light in your eyes snaps away. Just like that, you're gone.

Moriarty had finally succeeded in burning the heart out of Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
